Off to launder in depression I go
trying to find four empty all in a row
three loads full of colors, soap to the right
soap right, bleach left, in the load with all white.
Lady in a moo moo, sniffing underwear
empty orange juice can curlers in her hair.
Two orientals squabbling, foreign to me.
Boys with bows and arrows running Scott free.
Paranoia sets in, this is hardly a joke!
My only hope, out the front door for a smoke.
A sign from heaven, new faith forevermore
low and behold, there is a liquor store next door.
Fifth of tequila in a brown paper bag,
hanging with the winos, tossing coins we lag.
It was time, again, to brave the laundry mat zoo.
When I came back in, every-ones attention I drew.
I swear, they must have known I was coming in.
A black lady was first, "where the hell you been?"
Arms size of my waist, my wash in a basket,
she was mad enough to blow a gasket.
About that time, in the forehead I was hit
those kids shot an arrow with a rubber tip
It was enough to free my cloths, still wet,
making it to a drier was a long shot bet.
The next few minutes were nothing but a blur,
but my clothes were in a drier, that was for sure
I had a mop and was holding them out of range
until I realized I had spent all of my change.
So I said, "f___ the lemons," and bailed!!
Bronze trophy winner
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